The Bequeathment
by SarannWrapp
Summary: When Albus Dumbledore bequeathed a book to Hermione Granger, that wasn't all she was getting.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger received a book from Albus Dumbledore upon his death. In the back of it was a letter that he knew only a muggleborn could decipher. In between a properly worded letter of encouragement, he gave her the precise locations and ownership of all of the order's safe houses. These were to be used "in the utmost time of need, when all other options have turned to dust." She thought he was merely giving them a safe place to regroup if Harry died or some other terrible thing happened.

Nothing could have prepared her for the reality he had set in motion when his estate had been bequeathed.

Late one evening, after recently moving from Grimmauld to another safehouse with Ron and Harry in order to hunt the horcruxes, there came a knock at the door. No one should have been able to ever find the house, so it was frightening. Gathering her courage as lady of the house, she crept to the door and opened it a crack, only to find Lucius Malfoy, standing on her front porch with his family and a horde of other known death eaters milling about nervously behind him. They all looked worn and unkempt.

"Be quick and tell me why I shouldn't simply kill you all. Be assured, I am quite capable of it within three wand flicks," she said with a sneer and her wand sticking out menacingly. Upon recognizing her, they all expressed some level of shock. Lucius gathered his wits speedily and answered her.

"I beg your pardon and your mercy to us as fugitives. We are here under the direction of a spell of Dumbledore's. He timed the spell to be released upon his death and the arrival of his bequeathment to my son, Draco." He pivoted back to display his son holding a brilliantly glowing object. Draco held up the small, golden pyramid at his father's cue. "On it was inscribed, 'Direction will come to you when you are ready to seek help from what you despise most of all.' The spell only worked when this golden pyramid was held by a person ready to turn from the Dark Lord. It brought us not to this house, but to you. He really did know how to be cryptic, didn't he, Miss Granger?" Lucius asked with a chuckle.

Narcissa stepped forward and pleaded, "We know you have no reason to trust us, but we are all willing to submit to questioning, even under veratiserum. We have no where else to go. We cannot follow that madman any longer. Please help us." Her hair was matted and dirty and her usually pristine face was gaunt and smeared with dirty tear tracks. There was something in her earnestness that made Hermione pause.

Hermione held out her hand, and all of their wands and second wands shot from their holsters and into her waiting bottomless bag at a silent, wandless spell. "Octavian," she called without moving her eyes from the potential danger.

"Yes, mistress?" A little gray house elf in a riotously colorful, hand-knit toga blinked into the space beside her and bowed.

"Please tell the boys that we have guests that I will not permit to be manhandled and that they need to retrieve five of the veratiserum bottles from my green cabinet. Then please prepare rooms for these families. I am sure they would all feel more comfortable if placed in slightly larger groupings than is customary, but we do what we can for hospitality, right Octavian? Settle each of the families together, at least for tonight. We'll make amendments to the bed roster as we go. And tell Fannie to pull together a hearty stew and enough crusty bread for everyone. The boys and I will take dinner with everyone in the great room after we have our interviews. Thank you." With that last instruction, the house elf bowed and then blinked out to get it all done.

"Alright, come in through the foyer to the music room on the left, please," she said with a flourish of her wand. "Mr. Malfoy, please stand here and make our introductions. He stepped to her side with his family huddled to his other side and introduced all fifty-two of the witches and wizards who entered.

Once all wizards and witches were in the music room, Hermione called Tilly to serve tea to the weary and worried bunch. Then the interviews began. One by one, the party was called back to talk with the boys, who had not yet made an appearance to the group. As each finished their interview, they were escorted by a house elf, back through the music room and into the public parlor across the hall.

Finally, two hours after they began, the last interview was completed and dinner was served.

Dinner was a quiet, informal affair at the magically-elongated wooden table. Hermione was mulling over the logistics of keeping so many death eaters all in one house. The former death eaters were mourning what they had lost, as they left with very little to their names and no way to keep themselves for more than a few days time. Finally, Hermione had a breakthrough, and with it she broke the deep silence that had settled around the diners.

"Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, do house elves serve a dwelling or a family line?"

"A family line, of course, Miss Granger."

"Forgive me Mr. Malfoy, there is nothing in my life that would have prepared me for such a supposition. I am merely attempting to gather enough information to formulate a successful game plan. You see, we have space enough for all of you, even when divided up more comfortably. However, my three house elves have a difficult time enough serving those we've already hidden and ourselves. We also do not have the means to support all of your needs."

"I see. That is a problem, then, Miss Granger," Lucius replied.

Draco interrupted with a sneer, "And she has a plan percolating already. Right, Granger?"

"Oi, let her finish," Ron chastized.

"Yeah Malfoy, I know that smirk. She's got a big idea on the tip of her tongue," Harry finally jumped in.

"Boys, be polite," Hermione said. Returning her attention to Mr. Maylfoy, she said, "would you please call your lead house elf?"

"Grimpy, please come here." To no one's surprise, a house elf popped in beside his master. "Grimpy, this is Miss Hermione Granger. She has a few instructions for you. Follow her instructions to the letter."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Grimpy, I have several instructions for you. First, I wish for you to pack up all the items your masters will need to live comfortably for the foreseeable future and bring it all here to be put away at their discretion. Assume anything you leave behind will be destroyed. Second, I wish you to gather all the family heirlooms and items your master will not wish to be destroyed when his defection is made known. Please deposit these in a place safe from danger but easily accessible to your master. Again, please assume that anything you do not take will be destroyed. Third, please gather the house elves under service to your master for further instruction on future duties and placement tomorrow morning. Do not allow any of you to be seen or caught by those currently occupying the Master's residences. Your safety is more important than the immediate removal of all items because you could get back in only as long as you survive. Your master will have additional instruction ready for you then. Thank you."

"That is all, Grimpy. Do as she says. Do not be seen or heard and report back at 8:30 am," Lucius reinforced the directives. Narcissa whimpered under her handkerchief as Draco patted her shoulder. Hermione noticed.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I understand that this is difficult for you. Please believe me when I say I understand what you are going through. My parents made a similar move that cost them their house, their client base, and all knowledge of their only daughter. Take heart that you have your husband and son with you. Harry, Ron, and I will do everything in our power to help make this temporary situation as painless as possible for you. Together, we will get through this." Draco now held his openly weeping mother and looked up at the unexpectedly strong and compassionate muggleborn with an expression of gratitude, frustration, and confusion. He hated confusion. "Your room is third floor up, second door on the right. Bathroom is at the far end of the hall. Please make yourselves comfortable. If you'd stay a moment longer, Mr. Malfoy, Harry needs to discuss a few matters with you, now that you are free of the potion." Harry led Lucius Malfoy back to the office to discuss the effect of having so many dark marks would have on the house.

Hermione asked all the family heads to request similar actions from their house elves, reminding them that they could rebuild if needed. All families were settled in the upper, unused rooms and the Golden Trio settled into a well-warded room in the hidden wing, taking turns at guarding through the night. Stress and fear ate at them all, even as they slept in between fitful dreams.

Over a breakfast of raisin oatmeal and fresh juice, Hermione's nerves snapped and she slammed her spoon down on the hardwood table and began in a raised voice as her magic bubbled over, "I don't see why purebloods ever felt they had to oppose muggleborns. You're all so interested in breeding, I would have thought your people would welcome the chance to save your children from the diseases that come from inbreeding, at the very least. Wouldn't the childhood integration of muggleborns be much more beneficial to purebloods than exclusion. I mean, if muggleborn children were adopted as distant relatives or godchildren, then their success would reflect honor to the adopted pureblood family instead of being a threat. And we'd come into Hogwarts knowing how to be wizards and witches outside of academia. We'd become bicultural, making us acceptable potential spouses and great resources for navigating the wider world. Wizard-kind would no longer be imprisoned in a gilded cage built by fear and hatred. I mean, witch hunts are a thing of the past in the muggle world.

"And personally, I cannot count the times I've wished some person who knew what I was going through would have had the foresight to take an interest at a younger age. The culture shock would have been much less and I wouldn't have had so many habits that you all find so distasteful." Hermione was so worked up that accidental magic radiated from her like blue waves of electricity. Harry, having seen this before, looked for a good point to jump in with a thoughtful question so she's come back to her senses. The rest of the crowd were at once in awe of her bubbling magical reserves, which were strong enough to buffet their own magical cores, and in deep fear, as most people who lost it this far couldn't be pulled back from the madness that accompanied a loss of magical control.

"Muggles have several instances where a child's development becomes the interest of adults outside of his or her nuclear family. For example, older men and women will occasionally adopt a child as a grandchild, unofficially, of course, and lavish their attentions and elderly wisdom upon said child, much like a real grandparent might do. Alternatively, there is a program called Big Brothers, Big Sisters. That program allows volunteers to be in a relationship much like that of a godparent. It instills values into the children that wouldn't have been there otherwise. Merlin! I wish you all had been even just a BIT more forward thinking! We wouldn't have had even a portion of the problem we do now..."

"Do many muggleborns have godparents already?" Harry asked calmly, trying to get her to calm down. In answer to a raised eyebrow from Lucius Malfoy, he whispered, "It only takes a smart question to bring her back down. No worries, mate, she's got this."

Derailed from her tirade, Hermione answered, "Eh... no, Harry. Not many muggle children outside of the Catholic church have godparents these days. I wonder, hmm. I wonder what it would take to get muggleborns identified early and given magical godparents so that they could be a benefit instead of a scarey unknown."

"Why?" Draco sneered at her, his confusion settling into anger that set him back to his habitual prejudice. Seeing where she was going with this Lucius answered with his honestly changed opinion.

"Why not, son? Did you not see evidence of her magical reserves? Surely, we are all wondering who will benefit from Miss Granger's hard work and potential. Which family will be raised in prestige, after all of this madness has passed, for being linked to such an intelligent and determined young woman through marriage? If she were a pureblood, she would already have had dozens of offers for alliance. Her in-laws will not really have had any input into her development, but they will certainly reap of the benefits. If she were to have been given godparents to help her decipher our world the way purebloods do, imagine what she would have already achieved! And she would have been able to link two families instead of being quietly shunted to a hidden corner of the family tree. There's much merit in her god-parenting suggestion, son."

"But father..."

"No son. If we'd had ties to the muggle world, we would not have been so destitute when we traitorously fled. We could have hidden in the multitudes instead of crawling, blindly led to our possible doom by that madman's trinket." Lucius was not one to be naysayed once he'd made his mind, and he'd done just that after finally meeting the famous Hermione Granger.

No one knew what had happened just then until much later, but that moment marked the turning point in the war and in wizarding society. It brought about a Golden Renaissance to the purebloods and an age of unparalleled acceptance to muggleborns.


	2. Chapter 2

"Harry, house elves are not field hands! Their skin burns too easily to stay outdoors for much longer than an hour," Hermione protested early in the morning in Harry's office at Witwick Commons, the safe house that was now brimming with former death eaters. "I vividly remember their panicked screeching when I suggested that maybe they should go out and frolic, carefree in the sunshine." Hermione shuddered.

"Look. I know that, but we are quickly running out of options. Your savings won't see us through another month if we continue to feed the everyone from the grocer in Northallerton," Harry pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "None of us can get into Gringotts; not them, not me.

"I know. But we can't just toss them to the street, Harry. I won't do it. Maybe I could get a job down at the pub. I know how to sling shots. My cousin's catering service had me help out last summer so I could pay for my books. You know how I hate taking my parent's money, Harry. I don't know if I'd even be able to access it without them in the country now. And they are getting on in years, they'll need it for retirement if ever we get through this and I can return their memories."

They heard a noise in the library just outside the office door, a sharp tap like a single stiletto or a cane on the hard flagstone.

"Come on in Mr. Malfoy," Harry invited. "We heard you."

The heavy wooden door opened with a slow, grinding squeal. Mr. Lucius Malfoy stood in what was fast becoming his early morning wardrobe, a flouncy white shirt under a silver damask vest over charcoal wool paired with soft boots and a cane. He'd begun to wear his naturally platinum hair pulled back in a low tail with a small ribbon. Hermione wondered if this was his normal look in private or if he was trying to appear less imposing. Either way, it seemed to her that his flair for the dramatic was no less and he still used that cane.

He sauntered into the small office regally, taking in the pair's unkempt, and rather plebeian clothing. His sneer only lasted a second, but Hermione felt the sting of his disapproval over her attire. She'd tried, really, to wear robes when in public places ever since they came. She wanted to be accepted and respected, after all. Seemed like it was all for naught, though. 'Well, let him try to find the blasted horcrux, and try to look amazing after an overnighter in a dusty library,' Hermione's mood was already bitter with fear and laced with dread, so he really wasn't getting any brownie points for spying and then looking down on her attire.

"What did you hear, Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked civilly, a warning in his brow.

Lucius was conciliatory, however. "With the estate that you have here, we did not consider the strain our presence has been on your finances. We assumed the estate's farming charms would have arranged for greater production once we were added to the tenancy roster." Talking about money always made Hermione uncomfortable and she began tugging at her shirt cuff.

"It isn't that, we just have another three months before we can expect to rely on the gardens for everything. And since Harry, Ron, and I are not permitted to walk into Gringotts for the remainder of our days and none of us are capable of making a withdrawal remotely due to the war and our minority status, we find ourselves needing to use my muggle account for most purchases," she said with a decidedly nervous twitch in her foot.

"Besides, Hermione's only gotten halfway through the journals outlining the operations of the estate. We only came across the need to even add ourselves to the ledger a week ago," Hermione flushed in embarrassment as much at Harry's joking tone as at his additional explanation.

"Hmm," was all he said before he nodded and exited the office with a flourish that only pureblooded males ever seemed to achieve. Some days, Hermione really wished they'd stop it because it was all rather too attractive. She kept thinking of Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy or some such dark, romantic hero that her mother always said was the epitome of high born masculinity.

Ron stumbled into the library with a sleepy look in his eye and three mugs of coffee in his hands. He looked just as disheveled as his friends in his rumpled homespun sweater and heavily patched jeans that were two sizes too big. He'd slept the night before mostly because he kept snoring and drooling on the books by the time two am rolled around and was sent to bed. The hair on one side of his head was sticking straight up into the air, lending him the last note of comedy that Hermione needed to break down in giggles.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said, accepting the proffered beverage, slumping back into the deep couch on the side of the office. Within minutes, Hermione was setting his mug down on the desk while Ron picked him up to take him to his bedroom.

Harry needed the sleeping draft in his coffee because of the trip he and Ron would need to take within a few days to retrieve the recently discovered horcrux. The mounting pressure was weighing on him, as was the possibility that he might not survive the final battle. Hermione had been feverishly searching for any means to remove the horcrux without killing him, but he'd made her promise to do the job right if all else failed. That possibility, more than any other, wore her down and made sleeping a losing proposition. She'd lived on stimulants and a prayer.

It wasn't as if she had time to sleep anyway. There was an estate to run, food to buy from the the Northallerton supermarket every day, wards to renew with her blood, and correspondence that had to go out to the other Order members. Wiping her hands over her face with vigor, she set to work at Harry's desk to send out updates and finally figure out how to explain their new house guests. She knew they'd freak out, thinking she was Imperioused or lying or in mortal danger. But she had to do it. A week of silence on the issue was all the more secrecy they'd really allow before calling into question her motives as well as her allegiances. It wasn't as if she had much choice in the situation, being a muggleborn.

Still, she wished that she had the choice. She wouldn't have been a Death Eater, but she might have agreed with the political aims of the Knights of Walpurgis, the group that predated the Dark Lord and his bastardized ideals. They'd originally only wanted to maintain their cultural heritage and feared the 'daughters of Canaan,' much like the Hebrews. And they were right to do so. She, the brightest witch of her age, was still so obviously a muggleborn, right down to her choice in underthings. She thought she could make up for it, finally assimilate, by studying so very hard in school. These last few months at Witwick Commons and the other various safe houses and boltholes that Dumbledore left her, gave her a clearer view of the scope of her ambition. There was simply no way to become the lady of the magical manor without living it from birth. And she, being partial to her upbringing because her parents were great, didn't want to completely discard her roots. It was a mess.

Tired of thinking of all these complicated but inconsequential things with a fuzzy brain on a mostly empty stomach, Hermione set her head down on the desk to rest for just a moment.

Narcissa Malfoy was a staunch advocate of pureblood society and of perfection in general. But she recognized strong attempts as a close second best. She never really thought that killing was the best way to deal with the muggleborn problem, but she wasn't very strong or politically minded. So when she walked in on Hermione sleeping in the office to pick up a spare quill and pot of ink to make a lessons schedule for the children, she noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the pale, underfed look the girl wore like a shroud of fear and exhaustion. Hermione seemed to be trying so very hard to figure everything out, all while fighting in a war over the right to live. And since the purebloods set up court in her home, she'd taken to wearing robes, or at least vest robes over her regular garments. Narcissa approved of Hermione's attempts to uphold wizarding culture.

Hermione shifted slightly in her slumber, trying to find a softer edge on the desk amid the bank statements, warding records, menu planning guides, personal notes on The Knights of Walpurgis, and _Witwick Commons: A History and Guide_. Smiling gently, Narcissa pulled out her wand and set a cushion charm under Hermione's head and raised a magical guard rail on the side of the chair to which Hermione was leaning, and stoked the fireplace. She grabbed the quill and ink and retreated from the slumbering muggleborn whose face was so childlike in its repose.

Lucius Malfoy caught sight of his wife leaving the office with a soft smile playing on her lips. He had certain worries on his mind, worries he'd never really entertained before. Potter and Granger both explained that first day that they would have difficulties keeping the mass of ex-death eaters in food, but he never thought they were flying so much by the seat of their pants. Every child learned from an early age how to keep a magical house running. There were ledgers to let the charms know what to produce, what the house elves should do, when wards and charms and various maintenance should be performed. Every child was taught that if you invest your time in your home, it will reward you and your future loved ones by taking care of your needs. Miss Granger was right; there were obviously things she and other muggleborns needed to know that weren't being taught in classes. It wasn't the fault of the child who'd been accepted as part of wizarding society; it was the fault of those adults who invited them in but kept them at arms length when they should have been warmly embraced. For truly, a pureblood child, hidden and raised in the muggle world, has the same trouble acclimating to society as do muggleborns.

During his inner musings, his wife approached him, claimed a kiss and then his hand. She gently tugged him to the office doorway to view the Granger girl. "She works too hard, Lucius. She's trying so hard to figure it all out. We owe her. Not only for our own sakes, but for that of our son. You know very well that Draco would be dead this day if she hadn't accepted us into her home."

"Yes, very well do I know that, my dear. And that is not all we owe her," he agreed. "It seems that she is only just getting though the estate journals outlining its operation and maintenance. Being the youngest male, I am not surprised that Weasley doesn't know much about household care, and with their upbringings, Potter and Miss Granger fared even worse. It appears that all three are banned from Gringotts for life. She's been using her childhood, muggle savings to pay for our food at a muggles' green grocer's. In fact, she's due to run out at our current rate of consumption within four weeks."

Mrs. Malfoy gasped. "You can't be serious."

"Indeed, I overheard her and Potter brainstorming for ideas to support us through the interim just this morning as they wrapped up yet another long night of searching."

"That's another thing, I don't know what they search for. Wait, what interim?"

"I have some idea, and I wish them godspeed in their search, but I have no real information that they do not already have," Mr. Malfoy hinted. "They just came across the reference to vegetable production charms in the journals and estate handbook. It seems there will be a two-month gap between her funds running dry and the charm's first fruit bearing out. She means to go get a muggle job as a barmaid to make up the difference."

"Certainly not! She'll do nothing of the sort. We'll find another way."

"Hmm."

"We cannot get the produce from our lands, it will be watched, but perhaps from a green grocer we trust?"

"Are there any that we trust with knowledge of our continued existence? Wait my dear," Mr. Malfoy paused. "There is one. The Pips came with us. Dagbert Pips holds share in a green grocer market that operates from fields her personally owns but does not live on. No on will be searching those fields. They would look for missing animals, but a row of vegetables here and there will not be missed."

"But you know, darling, it isn't just the vegetables. Of course it would have been better if she'd known about the produce charms, but she's doing this all alone. There's no teacher guiding her and even her parents are in hiding."

"My dear, there's something about that which seems somewhat odd. Remember our first meeting, she comforted you by asking you to rejoice in the family that you did have with you? Do you recall her mentioning that they had no recollection of a daughter? She mentioned it again to Potter, saying she had to save her parent's money for their retirement if she can return their memories. My dear, I think she sent them away without their consent or even knowledge."

"Well, that's quite a Slytherin approach, is it not?" Narcissa was quite proud of the girl, if that was actually the truth. Self sacrificing, but also quite cunning.

"Father, Mother? The others are gathered in the parlor and asked me to fetch you," Draco Malfoy interrupted. He gathered the ink well and the quill from his mother and began toward the parlor before seeing Hermione sleeping in her office chair. He sneered at the sight of her seeming laziness and the sheer impropriety of her falling asleep in such a public place. He walked away in disgust.

"We taught him too well, beloved," Lucius said, regarding the back of his son.

"Yes, love, we did," Narcissa agreed. "And if he is to learn any differently, it will not come from us. He won't trust us with such as lesson."

"Perhaps there is yet hope," Lucius said, glancing back at the sleeping embodiment of all they had thought they hated.


	3. Chapter 3

The 52 newcomers to Witwick Commons found themselves with little direction and made only a few changes to the daily lives of the three previous occupants by staying to themselves. Their lives, however, were vastly different from the lives they'd fled. Assuredly, they had their clothes and their families and even the safety of most of their precious items, but they were not free. Their exile might have been self-imposed, but they still could not leave the protective wards of the safe house. These wards even extended to the grounds, but they were finite. The wards were laced with the additional protection of a dark mark confunding charm, devised by Harry and Lucius after consulting Hermione that first night. Hermione reinforced this new ward every evening before bed. She had to be carried back inside on several occasions due to all of the expended magical energy. It was worth it to her, though.

Like a badly focused camera, the new ward dissipated the beacon effect that each dark mark projected. For all the Dark Lord knew, an explosion killed a number of his servants the night they trudged from Northallerton to the middle of nowhere, about five kilometers due east. Since he hadn't been focusing on these particular beacons at the time, their removal was noted but their last location was not.

Many of the newcomers were children of dead death eaters and were the last of their pureblood lines. Of the original 200 clans that could trace their lines all the way to before the time of Christ, there were 96 clans that had ended by the Dark Lord alone. Twenty-four other lines were at Witwick Commons, on their last legs, and in danger of being ended by the Dark Lord's war. These children were frightened, bored, and indoctrinated into the pureblood mindset. They weren't much fun to be around for Hermione. But the adults in the group recognized the debt that hung between them and treated Hermione as if she were the Lady of the Manor, whether she acted like it or not. It was almost as disconcerting as how the children treated her, but it kind of made her want to live up to their treatment of her. Perhaps that was just so she didn't feel like they were making fun, but she wasn't sure. Taking a thoroughly practical approach to her feelings on the matter, she figured it at least encouraged her to be better and decided not to think about it anymore.

Former Slytherins held an insensible hatred for being in anyone's debt, as did most former Ravenclaws. Dagbert Pips was just such a man, and was happy to supply all of the food he could from his business holdings. He was a short, dark man with a happy, rotund appearance that belied a jovial heart and love of food as well as hid one of the sharpest business minds in all of Wizarding England. He was frequently seen with a baby on his hip and a smile on his lips. It never occurred to Hermione from his behavior to think that he'd left behind his death eater wife and his brother when his mother and son fled with him to some unknown with the Malfoys. Or to think that, to him, anything would have been better than the absolute terror each day held under the Dark Lord.

All at Witwick Commons had some family that they either had lost or left behind. The bonds of family, long held sacred for wizard-kind, were torn asunder in the wake of war. The truth of this was never discussed, but it bore out in the camaraderie that developed among the residents to fill the voids.

Soon after the first secret shipments of food were received, Dagbert Pips began advising Hermione on how to work the produce charms to best allow for future needs at Witwick Commons. She used this in-depth knowledge when she went on her tours of the other safe houses in her keeping, and it quickly reduced the necessity of her care packages for the families hidden in the other houses.

It began as just a quick overview of the charms she had read about in her estate manuals, but the meetings quickly progressed to several hours of lessons each day, sometimes involving some of the other older kids, in the intricacies of magical home maintenance. Some days, other adults held the lesson, and they each began growing a certain affection for the little Gryffindor. It was during these lessons that Dagbert mentioned assigning heirs apparent and god-children. And so, she entered into that sacred trust of god-parenthood with a child named Donovan Pips. And a secret, magically-binding will was written and laid up for the event that she really hoped didn't happen.

Of course, these lessons ate into the time Hermione had to actually get her work done, but the research wasn't so crucial anymore now that they were fairly sure what their last quest was going to be and the burden of safe house keeper had been reduced as well. Preparing the boys for their quest was the most time consuming thing, along with easing the fears of the other Order members about her unconventional house guests and explaining why she wouldn't just 'shove 'em out the door and let You-Know-Who devour his wayward pests.' Training for the final battle was a close second in her timetable now that she knew the Order would manage well enough if the unthinkable happened. She simply had to remind herself that these pressures were temporary. They would win; all other options were untenable.

One afternoon while Hermione was working on the correspondence, Narcissa found her in the office. She was carrying a tray of tea items, one of the peculiarly British rituals that transcended the wizarding and muggle divide.

"I thought you might like some tea since you didn't eat lunch today, Miss Granger," Narcissa Malfoy meekly interrupted. Hermione set down her quill, stretched her hand and reached for the teacup in the older woman's hand. Swiveling her chair to the coffee table that tea rest of the tea service was resting on, Hermione motioned for Narcissa to sit on the couch opposite her chair.

"Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"It is no trouble, dear. Especially after all the bother we've been."

"Not at all, Mrs. Malfoy. Without your help, or rather Mr. Pips' help, we would have had a much harder time of it once my funds ran out," Hermione said, truly troubled. She took a sip of the piping hot chamomile tea.

"I'm sure you and yours would have found a solution in time," Narcissa comforted.

"Thank you, but what would have happened to our other hidden families? I don't know how much you know about what the muggles call World War 2, but there were a great deal of people in hiding from the German Nazi Regime. Many of them were of a particular, scattered ethnicity called the Jews. It was back in the 1940s when one such Jew, a girl named Anne Frank, went into hiding with her family and a number of other people. She wrote a journal during her teen years in that hiding place and it was required reading for my last year at muggle school. They starved for over two years and were found anyway."

Narcissa sat her tea down on the table. "What happened to her?"

"She died," Hermione replied softly. " They think she died of Typhus in a concentration camp just a few weeks before she would have been liberated. That was was one of the darkest times in our modern history, where all manner of evil devoured the humanity of decent men and women as they consumed the lives of millions of innocent men, women, and children out of hatred and prejudice. It is a guilt and legacy I do not wish upon the magical world, where evil takes more than just human form."

"You envision the world after the Dark Lord and see something I did not think I would ever care to see. But the way you explain it, there is much that I must think about. It is... difficult... to acknowledge one's faults."

"Yes, I know that well. Be comforted. It is even harder to acknowledge those faults if you are still committing them, in which uncomfortable position I am sitting. I should not have done what I did to my parents to get them to go into hiding, but I would not change my choice, especially now that my fears were confirmed and their home and office lay in ruin." A tear trickled down Hermione's cheek and she sat in her own thoughts for a moment. Narcissa watched the young brunette gather herself together again, brick by brick.

Once she was calm once more, Hermione decided to drastically change topics and attempt to befriend this kind woman. "You are a wizarding woman unlike any I've had the privilege to meet so far. My mother, being a doctor and a staunch feminist -that is a woman who believes women should behave as, and be seen as equals of, men in every facet-, never had much time for beauty treatments. Mrs. Weasley never had much time to devote to appearance either, but you are so well kept. It is obvious you hold at least some stock in knowing how to present the image you desire to portray."

"To be honest, Miss Granger, I do not know where you are going with this."

"Do you know, I've never once seen a beauty charms book in Hogwarts or at any of the homes I've been invited to? I am beginning to wonder if all witches are truly just that lovely. Of course, I've seen the difference between Lavender Brown before her morning rituals and after, so there must be something I am missing."

"Ah. I think I understand now." She paused as she shut and locked the office door before she continued, "What you are wondering about are the toilet charms that a mother usually passes down to her daughter. These are never published in a book that any man could ever see and are generally family-oriented as most women have the same problems their mothers do. For example, I learned from my mother how to keep my blond hair from looking brassy with this charm." She raised her wand to the tips of her hair, shook it twice, and said, "Non Ferrugo." Instantly, her blonde hair, which once held a tiny hint of strawberry, brightened to the almost platinum color that Malfoys were famous for.

Hermione gasped.

"See, it is not just a matter of genetics. We have magic for a reason, and witches have been using it to distinguish ourselves from those man-eating hags for centuries."

When Hermione regained the ability to speak after finally being proven right about the existence of specialized beauty spells, she asked, "How do you find out which spells to use if your problems are different from your mothers? Or say, your mother doesn't know any spells at all?"

"Well, my dear, that's what grimoires are for!" Narcissa brightened up and was bordering on bubbling with excitement. "Of course, a woman's book of beauty secrets will contain many charms she might never need, added through the ages by friends or relatives. And it can only be read by a woman in the reflection of a woman's personal mirror."

"Hmm, well. I guess the first step would be to make a personal mirror, then," Hermione said pensively.

"Don't worry about that, dear, a regular mirror can be transformed into a personal mirror with only a tiny bit of work."

"Do, tell me about it," Hermione said on the edge of her seat, with more earnestness than any of her friends would have believed.

Narcissa and Hermione spent all of tea time and much of the evening in what Narcissa fondly remembered forevermore as 'The Day I Found a Daughter.' Since Narcissa's mad sister, Bellatrix, struggled with a heavy mop of unruly curls, Hermione didn't need to look too far in Narcissa's beauty grimoire to find the spells that would treat her own chaotic mess. By the end of that night, Hermione's hair no longer looked like a thicket the color of dead twigs, but rather like a silky cascade of honey and chocolate ringlets. It was just a shade more vibrant, but the effects were stunning.

It took three days for Harry to ask her if she'd gotten her hair cut.

But Draco Malfoy noticed immediately, and then Lucius noticed that Draco noticed. After watching for a while, he realized that his son did not approve of being made to notice his former academic rival. Lucius watched as each time Draco accidentally caught sight of the new Miss Granger, his breath caught as he stared for a moment, he coughed, and then quickly turned away with a blush most visible on the pale boy.

Bringing the topic up with his wife, she laughingly admitted her motherly aid and fished for a compliment on her brilliant work. He gave her the pleasure of knowing how it effected their son, and she smirked. Lucius thought about this development between their host and his wife for a long time. He also thought long and hard about the potential there was between his son and his wife's new friend. It was one thing to accept a muggleborn child as a friend, but another thing entirely to entertain the possibility of accepting the end of a pure line of Malfoys. Mentally, he was ok with the prospect, especially with this wonderful girl. But he felt differently. He felt all of the biting, angry remarks he'd ever been taught to use against such people. Now that he knew better, he had to change. But, it was going to take some time.

A month passed, and the children were taking lessons throughout the day, the others were keeping busy with one thing or another, Hermione and the boys kept mostly to themselves in the hidden wing, and Narcissa Malfoy had taken to bringing tea to the office for Hermione every day, since she noticed Hermione usually skipped lunch. It was a kind, motherly gesture on the older woman's part. Hermione was still a bit wary, but their relationship was quickly cementing into something that she could envision lasting past all this Dark Lord unpleasantness.

Finally, the day came for the boys to depart. Their bag was packed, their tent and supplies were ready, and their goodbyes to their wider circle of friends were given.

"Are you sure we have to carry your beaded bag, Hermione?" Ron's disgust for the girly thing was ridiculous, in her opinion, as he gingerly held the thing between his thumb and forefinger. "But, bu- but, it's so sparkly!"

"Yes," she said, exasperated, "And it took nearly a year to finish the charms, because each stitch had done to be by hand with the charms re-enforced every time, so stop complaining."

Harry was serious because he knew that this might be the last time she saw them before the final battle called forth its contestants, but words failed him as he saw her eyes and was bolstered with a sense of assurance and unconditional support. He gave her a worried peck on the cheek and hoisted his bag over his shoulder.

Ron blushed, gave her a quick peck on her other cheek, and said, "Be good, and don't let Mum's howlers get to you. And try to do something for yourself for once, hmm? You've been a bit of a wreck lately, and we need Harry's Brain to be working as best it can. So do that yoga thing, or go for a run. Something to help center yourself so you don't burn out, 'kay?"

She nodded, lips pursed, with eyes brimming with tears of fear and pride for her two boys, now men and ready for war.

With one last hand squeeze from each of the boys, she watched them walk through the green flames to the Hogs Head in disguise. From there, they'd get into the castle from the Shrieking Shack and stay in the Room of Requirement for as long as it took to find the diadem.

"Be safe," she whispered to the fire.

Her struggles and the boys' disappearance weren't hidden to the others. They knew something big was going on, but most of them couldn't figure it out. Only Lucius had an idea, and he fervently prayed that they would hurry. It was all coming to a head quickly, he could feel it in his bones and in the throb emanating from his dark mark.

That night, he felt a large drain of power from the surrounding area as if a great number of spells were being used in a short amount of time. The halls were dark and no one was out as he padded down toward the disturbance, trying to stay in the shadows.

A hidden door opened as if it wanted him to come closer. That was usually a dangerous thing in magical homes, but only because they usually had secrets their masters were willing to kill to keep. He knew Miss Granger had no such secrets. Or if she did, they weren't kept here.

He stopped as magic thrummed though him. He remembered that feeling. There were battles from the first wave of the Dark Lord's reign of terror that he participated in that felt exactly like that thrumming. A cold wave of terror as he sped up, fearful for the children and his family. He thought his former colleagues had found him and he was gearing up for a battle to the death. Perhaps his family will have enough time to flee before he met his end.

What he saw when he opened the door to the room containing all of the magical interference, caught him up with shock. He was right that there was a battle going on, but it was a battle of one.

Standard dueling charms had been layered upon each other in a circle, objects flew around the room in a haphazard design, and charmed dummies ambled toward their prey, Hermione Granger. The charms permitted viewers, but not outside distractions, so she couldn't see him. She was wearing her odd muggle clothing with curly wisps of hair glued to her forehead with the sweat pouring out in her exertion. She was a beautiful young maiden of vengeance in that moment. And he pitied all who opposed her, because they stood no chance of victory.

Her hair crackled with blue energy and her muscles strained as the dummies attacked, regrouped, and attacked again while random stinging hexes shot at her from the walls and the hexes she sent out were sent right back at her. It was a glorious dance, this dance of death she practiced.

He wished in that moment that he'd had even a small part of himself visible in the legacy of magic that she carried. He felt like a father who finally wished he hadn't abandoned his child as he watched her duck and swoop, pivot and aim. And he was ashamed.

Without exactly realizing, he Vowed to do all he could to get her through this last battle, to help her survive the end of this war.

Entranced, he watched her practice, keeping tally of the hexes that hit and thinking of tips she might be able to use in developing her fighting style. She fought like a Gryffindor, all force and obvious intent. To survive the upcoming battle, she'd need to think beyond the blunt force that she could get away with in this mock battle. She'd need to be as cunning as he knew she could be, and as ruthless.

He quietly withdrew and began making plans.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I apologize, the blackouts hit my home and delayed all writing because we were without power for nearly a week. My home had two very close calls with trees that used to stand over 50 feet tall. One trunk missed us by only four feet and the other tree leaned just enough to miss the house with the main branches while grazing the gutters with some of the side branches and landing straight on my sister-in-law's car. It was frightening.

Also, please let me know what you think. This is my first work of fiction, and I could use encouragement and constructive criticism. That being said, I don't intend to begin each chapter with pleas for reviews. Thank you.

As everyone knows, I don't actually own these pawns. I merely set them on the board as I wish.

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He had followed his parents because family always comes first. But Draco Malfoy didn't understand what was all going on around him. First, his parents defected after only a few setbacks in the Dark Lord's favor. Not only that, but they dragged several whole families down with them. Next they followed the direction of some strange object that Dumbledore gave them to some place in the middle of nowhere, trudging the whole group through numerous muggle settlements only to find themselves on the mudblood Granger's new magical doorstep.

Life was perfect. Just perfect.

Draco resented being dragged down with his misled parents. He resented stumbling upon scarhead or the mudblood every day in that house. He resented being made under-professor to the younger children. And he especially resented uppity mudbloods who deliberately stole other people's parents and then decided to start looking so incredibly mouth watering. He hated that he could think of nothing but running his fingers through that mass of silky curls. The whole situation was simply wrong.

Charms was one of the fields in which Draco truly excelled. His wand work bordered perfection and his vast repertoire was unparallelled in his year. He got this natural inclination from his father, who was a master with the wand. This was why he was asked to teach the younger student-aged children from the Charms textbook, even though his demeanor resembled Snape's at times. His lessons were approved by his mother every day and supervised on occasion by his father, Old Mrs. Augustine Pips, Caspar Crouch, or Wetherford Cragg, all of whom came with the Malfoys the day they all fled the Dark Lord.

Teaching was one way to pass the time for Draco. He hated it in principle, but tried because his mother wanted him to help the youngers. He was always a sucker for anything his mother wanted. That, and he was bored out of his skull otherwise.

He knew that all of the others were trying their hardest to keep from going mad as well, so when he heard stringed instrumental music wafting down the halls on his way to his afternoon class session, he thought nothing of it.

"Open your books to three hundred twenty-nine. Stewart Ackerly, please begin reading with, 'All hexes contain...'" As Young Mr. Ackerly droned on in a voice that was obviously inexperienced in oration, adults began filtering past the open door, one by one and then in pairs. Draco wondered what was going on, but allowed the chapter's recital to continue because he knew some of his students performed better when they heard the explanations out loud instead of just reading it themselves. Since he didn't want to read it himself, he allowed the children to take turns practicing their oratory skills as well.

Once the chapter was finished, he began the practical portion of the lesson.

He demonstrated the benign hexes, listing the ones the students were allowed to attempt as he went through them.

"Oral Quiz. Miss Keddle, what are the three toenail hexes located in chapter 32?"

"Color Changing, Fungal Infection, and Removal?"

"Is that a question?"

"Umm," the girl hesitantly replied.

"Correct," Draco exasperatedly interrupted. "Appear sure of your answer even if you don't know a thing about it. Ask later if you have to. Miss Greengrass, name the seven common interstitial hexes."

"Leg Edema, Bloated Fingers, Bubble Butt, Squishy Nose, Rubber Lips, Fountain Hair, and Tears of Eternity," the young girl rattled off.

"Very Good. Mr. Finkley, classify the hexes we've learned today and give reason."

"Yes ,sir. Um, I believe they would be classified as Type 2A through Type 2D. That's because the victim could die from the damage, but only if it is never reversed in most cases. None of them are less than minor irritations, but none of them cause permanent damage if the counter-hex is performed within a full lunar cycle."

"Correct." Continuing the quick oral quiz, he checked their knowledge concerning the new hexes, then set them loose upon each other as partners.

Eventually, the students all mastered the new Class-2 charms and the lesson wound down. He assigned more reading and a bit of written homework before calling it a day and shooing them to their next mock-professor. As he walked back to his room, he realized that the music was till playing, but it was of a much higher standard than anything he knew his housemates to be capable of performing, so he followed the sound.

Hermione Granger was going mad. She needed some sort of outlet from all this stress. Sleeping in random places throughout the day just wasn't cutting it anymore as a stress release. It simply made her feel worse and more guilty for not only not being out in the thick out things, but sleeping like an old lady as well. She had to stay away from danger to keep the safe houses in use for the Order, but it killed her to be on the shelf. Her frustration came to a head one afternoon about two weeks after the boys left to search the Room of Requirement for the last horcrux, which they were pretty sure was Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. They only word she got from them was a message on the charmed coin in her pocket each evening that read, 'Both safe, no progress, still in ROR.'

'And try to do something for yourself for once, hmm? Something that will help center yourself so you don't burn out, 'kay?' He was right that she needed it when Ron had told her to be a little selfish, so she would be, time and conditions permitting.

She allowed for lessons with either Narcissa or Dagbert in the mornings, but now that most of the repairs to Witwick Commons had been finished or taken over by one resident or another, she found herself with large swathes of time in the afternoons that she didn't know what to do with. So she pulled out an old project of hers. Bringing muggle music to the magical world.

She'd isolated a charm that created a bubble of magical void, a sound wave conversion charm, and a hand-made rig that suspended the muggle device in the middle of the magical void by way of a shielding charm that rested on the top edge of the floating bubble. The two main problems she had to deal with were 1. powering the device and 2. broadcasting the sound waves in the volume of her choice instead of just to the room entire. She'd already experimented with a charm that used a tuner to locate radio waves, and she got a decent selection of classical music and discotheque rhythms while she was at Hogwarts, but that needed to be tested in this new location along with the other problems for the use of a tape deck or CD player.

Setting up the bubble void and its accompanying charms was the easy part of putting the whole contraption together. It took a very skilled hand to slip the noose over the shield to just the midway point, so it didn't slid to one side or the other. If she touched the edges of it before settling the weight onto the middle, then the charm collapsed and the entire thing had to be re-charmed from the ground up. Luckily, she was developing a deft hand and a light touch with the centering of the noose.

The classical music from the magically-enhanced tuner soared through the large ballroom room she'd chosen as her testing facility. It was, after all, the room that such a charmed contraption would likely be used most often. Within moments, the lovely Nocturne of Chopin wafted out of the bubble.

The Classical Radio Station was set to play whatever the disk jockey chose, and Hermione found she could relinquish some responsibility and just enjoy. The mood to dance hit her and she summoned her old leotard from one of her yet-packed moving boxes. She changed quickly in a hidden parlor just outside the ballroom's hallway entrance, tucking her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head.

The music beckoned her feet to prepare as she swished her wand once more to transfigure an old lawn chair into a proper freestanding barre. Tucking her wand away in a fold of her robes laying in a bag under her music bubble, she again charged herself with finding a good name for her contraption. She couldn't keep calling it the music bubble, it simply sounded too childish.

Within moments, the music swept her mind off to thoughts of swans and stages and old exercise routines. She stretched and focused on relaxing one body part at a time from her neck down to her toes. Her body eagerly remembered the pleasure of being gracefully posed and gave her no complaints as she eased back into the motions of her old ballet mistress' less than gentle routines. Her dance instructor, a rail thin woman in her mid-sixties by the time Hermione began classes, had loved all things Vivaldi and strongly believed that the fast paced music helped students develop strength and style.

The barre was home to her for so long throughout her rough primary school years. Bullies' name calling, rough shoves, kicks, and taunts all melted away at the bar and allowed her to keep the weird things from happening. When she allowed herself to get angry or frustrated, weird things always happened, and she fell into ballet with a passion after a suggestion from her grandmother, God rest her soul. Grandmother had encouraged Mum and Da to enroll Hermione because 'every young woman of quality needs to know how to move.' It took the better part of a year to sway the staunch feminist, but she finally relented when Hermione had a meltdown concerning the prohibition after a long day at school. The dining room's chandelier and all of the house's wiring had needed to be replaced as well. Until the Hogwarts' letter, they never knew why things happened, but they were pretty sure that Hermione had something to do with it. Her grandmother assumed she had a particularly strong guardian angel. Her mother and father, though they loved her dearly, had had fears that she was some sort of mutant. That letter was a soothing balm to their frayed nerves, because they were told she could finally learn to control her outbursts.

At the barre, it was easy to forget the pain she'd been dealt, the complications she'd encountered, and the morally questionable activities in which she'd participated. She closed her eyes as she grande pliéd and demi plied until she felt warmed up and a song came on for which she knew choreography.

With a quick wave of her hand, she magically pushed the temporary barre to the side of the room and joined the music with a well-remembered routine.

Occasionally, she noticed a head pop into view from the hall beyond, usually with a startled expression, but she paid the visitors little mind. This was her home, and they were guests. So what if she was dancing a muggle dance. If they didn't like it, they could leave.

Eventually, she saw Lucius Malfoy kind of settle in near the door. He wasn't exactly watching her, but seemed like he was just enjoying the music instead. Appearing contemplative, he didn't incite any comment from any of the other passersby or any fear from Hermione as she swooped and twirled.

Music was rarely heard in the halls of any magical home unless it was being performed live. Music interfered with hearing a spell's distinctive tone when cast, so musical devices were seen as dangerous and never really pursued. So, when Lucius heard a stringed orchestra come from the ballroom, he followed the sound to see a sight he never thought he'd see. Hermione was dancing in a black leotard, a sheer, green skirt, and and black en point shoes that lent her an air of elegance as she danced to the sweeping and twinkling exaltations of Vivaldi's four seasons. Her lightly-clad, lithe figure, seemed inhuman at that moment as she embodied the music and was not seductive in the least.

Her grace was unexpected for each passerby except Lucius, who'd seen her just days earlier in a graceful dance of a completely different caliber. Unlike most of the guests who followed the music, Lucius stayed, conjuring a chair, and sat at the doorway. He thought about how he could help her. What sort of lessons he could teach and how to get her to accept his tutelage.

Father caught sight of son as Draco rounded the corner to the open ballroom door. An earnestly curious expression alighted on the boy's face but he closed his expression once he saw his father casually sitting at a seemingly random doorway. Looking guarded, Draco viewed the scene in the ballroom.

The girl inside danced and danced in a foreign yet beautiful manner. It seemed to stir longings Lucius didn't think his son knew. It wasn't desire of the flesh that welled up, but a desire for all things good and sweet and gentle. Just as Lucius was moved by this slip of a girl, his son simply desired a friend in that moment.

Draco retreated back to the guest hall and his own bedroom and the safety of his afternoon studies.

Lucius spent several hours watching the girl move, thinking of the roles he'd taken in the war and in society before actually meeting Miss Granger. He was so deeply entrenched in his mental meanderings that he didn't notice when Hermione turned off the music and approached him with an open robe covering her dance clothes and a towel in her hand.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. I didn't expect you to stay as long as you did. I don't mind in the least, but I am afraid I need to prepare for dinner now. I've finally worked off some of my nervous energy."

"Good evening. May I walk you back to your room? I've a proposition for you."

"Alright. This way," she said, motioning toward the main living area. As they made their way past the empty drawing room, the empty library, and the empty parlor, he began.

"I noticed you training one night a while back since you left the Reverter Shield Charm off of the door to your practice studio. I felt the magic thrumming. To be honest, it was a bit terrifying until I actually found that you were behind the disturbance. I thought we were besieged."

"Sorry about that, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said sheepishly. Lucius held up his hand.

"No, it is alright. It merely brings me to my point. I know you plan to go out and meet the opposition in the final battle when it arrives. Your character would allow no less, but you are having some trouble in certain areas of your combat training that I could remedy for you. Those spells you were using only challenge so much, and you've already mastered their use. They are not as good as a horde of death eaters will be. You must be trained further if you wish to survive the coming battle."

"You want to train me?" Hermione stopped in the hallway and looked at him, shocked.

"Yes. It is my duty to rectify the wrongs I've done. I can make sure you are ready." Hermione wasn't sure why he felt that way, even if he really did. She worried for a few moments over the possibility that he was setting her up for something, but she decided that the giving him a second chance was what Professor Dumbledore wanted. So she would give him that chance.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy. We'll give it a try."

"Good. Perhaps we can talk with Cissy tomorrow during your morning meeting."

"Ok. Thank you. Um, I guess I'll see you at dinner, then?"

"Of course, Miss Granger."


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning found Hermione sitting in Harry's office with Lucius and Narcissa. Lucius had a file and a small stack of ancient books sitting on the side table that made Hermione drool.

Hermione was wearing her usual Muggle lounge wear under her newly-finished, lavender, velvet casual robes. The open robes were charmed to keep her warm and comfortable, but did nothing for the headache she sported after another long night and the onset of her period. An early spread of tea things were scattered on the coffee table between them. Narcissa and Lucius were attempting to convince her to allow them to train her in some of the more esoteric dueling and war craft techniques.

Lucius set his tea down on the table, "What I said last night was absolutely true. While you are amazingly talented, you've yet to reach your optimum skill level. You will not become much better without direct instruction from a master, or at least from a duelist who is better than you. Nine of us qualify, myself included. We've spoken to the others, and we all wish to train you in the dirty dueling that most Slytherins take for granted. Each of us will give you our best spells, but your real weakness is your reaction time to change. You must be faster and more ruthless than your opponent. It would be best to test you and then prepare a lesson plan and outline, but we don't know how soon you'll be called out. So, we have determined a continuous lesson is in order. After the spells lessons, you'll never know when we will strike next, and that will give you the needed speed and awareness. We can..."

"Ok," Hermione interrupted, sighing through her headache, "I accept. Thank you." She turned slightly called out, "Octavian. The midnight blue remedy and the green-violet remedy on my bed stand, please?" Two small pops later, the dignified little house elf handed her the requested potion vials.

Lucius smirked while Narcissa clasped her hands together. They were pleased they didn't have to resort to coercion. The debt they owed to Hermione grated, and they needed to do something to pay her back, even just a little.

Narcissa was also proud of Hermione's acceptance of Octavian's help. They didn't used to get along quite as well, because Hermione didn't feel comfortable with treating Octavian as an extension of herself as a member of her household. She was learning, though, and her acceptance of the bond between master and elf made Octavian and the other house elves in her service feel more at ease.

House elves required the sense of security that service to a family line provided. Their females couldn't reproduce without that sense of security and their children failed to thrive if they were left without a master. Oddballs like Dobby were not so much the forward-thinkers Hermione once thought. Often, they were male adolescents who had been released from harsh masters before they found a mate and were on the elf version of that Australian Aboriginal phenomenon, walk-about.

"I had hoped you would, " Lucius said. "We'll discuss it with the others after lunch and let you prepare before we begin in earnest."

They sat together quietly for a few moments while Hermione's potions did their job, healing her minor hurts.

Looking at Narcissa, Lucius nodded. Taking his acknowledgment as a sign to broach the next topic, she began.

"Hermione dear, do you know what Dumbledore did when he replaced his blood with your blood in the wards here? And when you drank that vial he'd laid out for you to claim the wards? Since he was the last Dumbledore, he basically adopted you. Out of the ashes of his line's final breath, he transferred his magical inheritance to your line to start afresh with your genetics. His family's magical signature resides in you just as much as does the wild magic that chose you." To prove her point, she cast a Revelio Specialis Patrimonium.

"Occassionally, this was quietly done in the instance of Squib and Muggleborn infants in times past. Changelings, they were called, but it has never been done to an adult. We checked, it certainly hasn't changed your magical name. You don't resemble the Dumbledores in the least. See?" He pointed to the papers on the table with a drawing of the Dumbledore Revelio results and her full Hogwarts transcripts. "And both your genetic signature and your magical signature remain as they were when it was first documented for Hogwarts. It seems your Muggleborn name and genetic signature has been married to all of the weight and tradition of the Dumbledore line." Lucius had been beside himself with shock when he first realized Dumbledore's impertinence. Never had a new family line been named since the Two Hundred Clans were established.

Quite in awe of his finding, he said, "A new clan hasn't been started in over three thousand years. And never has a new name been established like this."

"So, it is kind of like he adopted me?" Hermione said. She didn't like hearing the word married. It brought uncomfortable mental images.

"Yes and no," said Narcissa. "You were an adult when it happened, so the usual changes that occur when a magical child is adopted into a family were thwarted. Those children become as good as natural children, with genetic and magical transformations to become much like the family they joined. It is complicated blood magic that required at least three Mugwump-level wizards or witches to perform. Once a person has reached adulthood, however, their magical field is set and they are not as easily malleable. We're not even quite sure how Dumbledore's actions will effect you magical output." Hermione began to feel a little worried at that thought. She couldn't afford to be off her game in the coming battle.

"Could it be a problem in the upcoming conflicts?" She had to ask.

"From what we can see, no. It appears that the Dumbledore line has been added as a layer to your own magic. You should be able to access one or the other, and maybe both at the same time. You may eventually need to be refitted for a wand. Old Mother Jugson could help you determine the extent of your ability to tap both magics. She's specialized in wandlore and marriage magics, her mother having come from the Olivander line and her father having come from a long line of First Class Mugwumps, many of whom spent time as Head Mugwump."

"If Dumbledore was able to give me his magical signature, why isn't it done in the instance of Squibs? I mean, we could turn everyone into witches and wizards, if we make the change in each Muggle infant. They could be introduced to our world much like Muggleborns." Hermione was getting excited about the prospects of world transformation. Narcissa put a quick stop to that line of thought.

"It isn't that simple. The adoption spells and magical signature transferal spells don't work on Muggles, infant or otherwise. The adoptee must have a strong enough magical core to be able to sustain a secondary signature. Squibs are defined by their core size, being too small to be accepted into Hogwarts' Magical Registry."

"Well, that's unfortunate," Hermione said.

"Yes, but it points to a population limit for the Magical community," Lucius said.

"Not necessarily. I've a few theories about magical determination, mostly because I've often wondered what gave me this gift. My first theory is that the Muggle population may set the numbers for the magical population. The population ratio may remain the same if magic is derived from human love. Dumbledore frequently said that love was the strongest power in the world. It is possible that witches and wizards are simply chosen to embody the willful aspect of that power. Families might transfer that ability to embody the power of love, magic, through their love of their children. With this theory, Muggleborn children might be selected by the love their families have for them, or by the love they are capable of holding.

"My second, and more substantial, theory is that magic might be sentient. It may be that it looks for patterns it can readily follow. Family lines are created because the pattern is the same from father to son. A Squib might not have a pattern strong enough or close enough to one that the magic can follow. A Muggleborn might be a child that happens to have enough genetic strength to hold a pattern that magic wants to mimic at a time when excess death in the Wizarding world cause an imbalance between magical deaths and births. That excess filters through the void toward children being conceived. Conception is the magic that Muggle and Wizard-kind both experience. At that moment, the wild magic chooses a new pattern to follow. It isn't as stagnant after its sojourn through the void as a wild, patternless entity as it had been after following the pattern through countless generations. It is capable of new spell patterns it wasn't capable of before because of the fresh-patterned human it brought into the magical world.

"I guess, it could be a combination of both of my theories, but I've not yet finished contemplating the topic. It is sometimes difficult to think that I have my gift because someone else died prematurely, that I have Grindelwald or the Dark Lord to thank for my power. I am simply grateful that I was given this ability and that my parents were proud of me despite how different I was. Maybe Dumbledore's gift will make me more acceptable in Wizarding society now that I have magical roots that twine deeply with all of the other families. My patterns are less frightening since I have that magical heritage now, just like them."

"It is possible that this will give you a measure of respectability within the upper classes, but the tides that are turning with the war and Mr. Potter's imminent success, you would already have nearly every door in our world open to you. There is, however, another benefit to all of this. Dumbledore made you one of the wealthiest independent women in our world And here we were, worrying." Lucius shrugged.

"Yeah. About that... Those funds are not exactly available to me... Because of the war and because I'm not permitted to even enter Gringotts, let alone apply for a vault," Hermione said, looking down at the empty tea cup in her hands.

"Why is that, dear?" Narcissa was genuinely interested.

"Well, it has to do with stealing a horcru- umm, a goblet and riding out of there on a dragon," Hermione answered sheepishly. "That, and impersonating your sister." She pointed to Narcissa, who lifted her eyebrow in question. She then gave them an eerily crazy look that typified Bellatrix Lestrange.

They both looked just like Draco did when Hermione hit him back in third year, like they couldn't bring themselves to believe she would do such a thing. A house elf popped in to refresh the tea service.

After each had refilled their cups and the Malfoys collected themselves again from such a startle.

Lucius spoke first, almost too casually. "You were going to say horcrux, weren't you, Miss Granger? He actually went through with making them, then?"

Hermione wasn't sure, now that the cat was out of the bag, what she should do. Being a Gryffindor, her mouth answered for her before she could contain the words. "Yes, seven."

Narcissa gasped, and Lucius was slack-jawed for the second time that morning. "Dear, Sweet Merlin! That's some of the darkest magic possible. There can be no redemption for a witch or wizard who has made one, let alone seven! With his soul is such tatters, no wonder he's insane. Lucius, he'll just keep coming back." There was a rumble in her voice, betraying the belly-deep dread.

"Have you got them all?" There was an earnestness in his voice that betrayed his very real fear. Draco was his line's last heir, and the Malfoy line could easily be torn asunder if the Dark Lord found a way to return again before the line was fortified. All of the Crucios he'd experienced had stripped him of his fertility. Draco was his family's only hope.

"Not yet. The boys are out now. We mean to be truly done with it when we finish. And we will finish. We are sworn unto each other to complete this task before any other obligations can be taken. Only the death of the Dark Lord will end our obligation." They could see the sparks of magic crackling around her, proof of her determination and power. "We know what they all are, and most of them are destroyed already. And he has no idea yet." She said the last with a wicked smirk.

The two Malfoys shared a shaky sigh of relief.

"We can fix the first matter in only a few days' time. Write a letter to Gringotts with a request for an at-home appointment. Specify that, as the head of your household, you wish to appoint a proxy. They won't be polite about it, but Goblins are required by The Gringotts Binding of 1782 to offer Gringotts' services to any witch or wizard head of household that requests assistance. You can choose a human, but I suggest you choose both a trusted human and a house elf bound to your line."

Hermione moved to the desk and penned out a legal request for a private, at-home appointment to determine a proxy. "Excuse me," she said, taking to letter to the window in the kitchen. The letter went out with the still-snacking public carrier owl that had just dropped off The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler.

The deposit box strapped to its leg jangled with the required knuts as it lifted off with her letter. She rejoined the Malfoys at the coffee table. "Well, that's one less thing to worry about."

"Dear, we need you to consider a few things, now that you've essentially been named the founder of a new family line. You have an obligation to reproduce your line, to develop a familial code, and begin a Family Line Grimoire."

"I can help you with that," Lucius interrupted. He sounded far too eager. Realizing his faux pas, he coughed. "I like the history of Grimoires. The founder of the Malfoy line, a man we know relatively little about, was one of the first to recognize the importance of a comprehensive family story." Sensing that he was gearing up for the Great Malfoy Tale, Narcissa jumped in.

"It is a passion of his, private histories. The Malfoy Grimoire contains a great deal of history, much like the Dumbledore Grimoire. It might be good to study the Dumbledore Grimoire, as it has become part of your line's history. Charms and spells that only work with the Dumbledore magic line will work for you, so discovering what those incantations are will be helpful in directing the development of your own Grimoire. Discovering what will work for the wild magic your ensnared at your birth, I am afraid, will be a journey that will continue long past your death." Narcissa took a deep breath. Now came the topic that consumed the minds of countless pureblooded witches. They'd been trait-breeding on the British Isles for over three thousand years.

"Finding the right husband, though, will be somewhat tricky. We will all need to be thoughtful about rebuilding the dwindling original lines. This is something every pureblooded witch will have thought about for many years. You don't have years. You'll need to find a younger male scion that boasts no direct descent from a family whose main line has now died out. This will be hard enough, but you will also have a duty to choose, from among the suitable candidates, for characteristics you wish to be foundational to your line. After all of that, you must then decide if you can fall in love or at least get along with one of the remaining choices."

"Yes, I know. I've already produced a short list, thinking of many of those things, but perhaps going about it in somewhat the opposite direction. I've also prepared a listing of the likeliest people for original line renewal. There is a small problem with finding British pairings for all of us, though. There aren't enough potential spouses to marry the proposed line heads." An expectant silence fell between them.

"And who did you place on your short list?" Narcissa couldn't keep from the question.

"A few people, some of whom haven't been officially cleared from needing to be a new clan head," she prevaricated, but they were insistent.

"And? Who are they, dear? Some of the Weasleys, perhaps?" Narcissa was eager to see what kind of man her daughter of the heart would choose for herself. Unfortunately, she missed the shrewd smirk on the young woman's face.

"I know. One would think I would go with one of the red-headed lot I've grown up with, but none of them suit, and in fact, many of them are going to be needed to spearhead their own rejuvenated lines. You know, I'm sure, that the Weasleys are pureblooded. This means they carry the recessive patterns for a great many families. To be sure, we are lucky Mr. and Mrs. Weasley chose to have so many children. You know the Prewett line officially ended with Molly's brothers, but it can be renewed easily with one of her boys. Likewise, the Yaxley line can be resuscitated with a Weasley, and the same can be said with the Black line, the Crouch line, and maybe even the Gaunt line though it is many times removed, of course. There may be closer options, but the war is not yet over. We do not know who will make it through.

"So, of course I couldn't choose a Weasley, but what of my other companions? Neville is needed for his father's line, and he will have to produce at least four children who will all also have to marry out in order to reclaim several other lines. I don't dare marry a Muggleborn because while I have fresh genes enough for my line, most Purebloods do not. They will need the Muggleborn spouses desperately in the coming generations. Many, if my estimations of death eater activity and NEWTS results are anything to go by, of this generation of Purebloods are already exhibiting mental, magical, and physical troubles due to inbreeding. Crabbe and Goyle are two perfect examples. Their families didn't used to look quite so brutish, nor were they quite such underachievers. It also seems all of the progeny of this generations' Purebloods will be taken as line re-establishers for the next three generations. By my calculations, that is how long a sustained breeding program would need to last in order to reclaim all possible of the extinct clans, maybe longer if the program doesn't take off like I hope it will.

"But, while I'm on the subject, why _do_ so many of you refuse to have children or even get married? You know you are dying out. Instead of trying to fix it, you hid your heads in the sand! You even created a war to get rid of the encroaching Muggleborns because you felt threatened. But, if you know your breeding base is dying off, you need to make efforts to raise the ratio of children per mother, not put more people in the way of an early death. Japan is struggling with this in the Muggle world because their decades-long depression is reducing their numbers and raising their collective age. But your people don't even have the benefit of older generations to muster as reproductive entities because either the Dark Lord or Grindelwald killed them all."

"Yes, I can see why you would ask, but," Lucius had visible difficulty in finding the words he meant. Narcissa stepped.

"We are slow to marry because it is for life. The marriage blood ritual can only be performed once on a person, usually a woman. It subdues the recipient's original blood signature and makes them pass on the new signature as well as their own. It is similar in form to the adoption spell Dumbledore cast on you, since you were an adult when the spell took place. It strengthens the paternal line."

"Oh."

"We are often selfish enough to want personal happiness over the happiness of our speculative, future children."

"Even if every single one of us marries and produces enough heirs, my generation will still see the end of Pureblood families as we know them. " Hermione paused. "You said I have a duty to my line, that Dumbledore made me head of a new line?"

The Malfoys nodded.

"A woman can be the head of a line?"

"Many women have served as Acting Head of a line while a son or grandson grew up," Lucius said cautiously.

"But a woman can be the head of a new line?" Hermione pushed her point. She needed to find the exact line where the gender differential sat.

"Apparently." Lucius reluctantly agreed. Ah, so this was new territory, but logically accepted.

"That would mean that a woman could potentially be the head of a renewed line, right?"

"Possibly," he admitted. Hermione could see him shrinking into the couch cushion just a little at the thought of such an alien idea needing to be implemented.

Hermione's eyes twinkled and her smile broadened into the biggest grin imaginable. Her suggestion was going to be more palatable to his Pureblood sensibilities than she originally feared.

"One could even consider those women to be assuming the role of Acting Head, since the purpose is to pass a line they were part of to their line's heir. Assuming the principle does in fact apply, there may be a way to resurrect many of the long-extinct family lines. That would help bring some of our lost heritage, yes?" She took a steadying breath. "In the Muggle world, some men take their wives' family names to continue the woman's line. I don't know if there's a way to magically direct the family line, maybe with an addition to the marriage vows, but it should be possible to find some of the long lost family lines by searching through the daughter listings."

"What you're talking about would involve two spells that are currently on the Ministry-banned list. And a third in common use amongst Pureblood families. One is used in the Hogwarts' Magical Registry. It monitors for all magical births and develops a history file for each child, including ancestors to the fifth degree. The other is only used by Ministry permission in the case of magical orphans to tighten a familial link so wards and family magics recognize the child as permissible. The commonly used spell allows Dowagers to hold family power over their line's heir until the child reaches their majority," Narcissa said.

"Well, I guess we'd just have to extend the ancestor listing far enough back to hit upon the proper grandparent."

"That isn't a problem. Hogwarts' Acceptance Archive has a modifier charm on the spell that limits the genealogy of each student to five degrees so it doesn't run each family tree back to Adam and Eve."

Hermione quirked her eyebrow. "That would be something to see. But, it might be best to wait until we get this Dark Lord stuff wrapped up so we can go about this in the most legal fashion possible. I don't want to be called out on illegal workings and then have people call our suggestions into question based on that supposed moral failing. It can wait. The risk of losing the last thread to lines currently considered extinct is incalculable. Since the loaded dice of war have not yet finished rolling, we'll have to bear the uncertainty as best we can. You raised our chances of renewal considerably when you brought the children here. Our world may one day count you among the heroes of our time for this."

A great many other details were discussed concerning the household management, line tracings, Wizarding world minutia such as the inner workings of various industries, plant lore, and the combat spells that Lucius and Narcissa wanted to be sure Hermione knew. Lucius reiterated his wife's encouragement to read the Dumbledore Grimoire for line-keyed protection spells and enchantments.

When they had finished, it was nearly lunch time. So, the three of them went to stretch their legs in the garden before settling in with the rest of the household for lunch.

The rest of the group was interested in some possible genetic avenues that had been previously overlooked in the Wizarding world in order to combat line die-off. Lucius, Narcissa, and Hermione did not bring up the topic of her training for general discussion until after Draco and the children went off for their afternoon classes. Everyone whole-heartedly agreed to help.

...

That afternoon, Hermione barricaded herself away in the ballroom and the giant storage closet beside it. The problem of electricity had gnawed at her while she slept, while she studied, while she trained, and even while she ate.

"What is it about electricity that gets fried when magic is near?" She asked the empty room. "Why does it fritz? Incoming electricity just acts wonky. I wonder if electricity made around or by magic has the same properties. Is it even possible to make electricity with magic?"

With a new, bite-sized, scientific question, she set to work. She'd read about generators several years ago, but needed to brush up on the principles.

A trip to her personal library brought forth some helpful, if vague, explanations of how electricity can be generated in an old science text book. From that book, she was able to extrapolate the needed elements. Friction on an atomic level got things going, letting the electrons pass in a wave through the neighboring atoms of a conductive element. Motors could be used both ways. Input electricity and get kinetic energy. Input kinetic energy and get electricity.

Waves of electricity didn't mesh with magic. Waves. Waves were a sort of pattern.

Hermione thought that the two patterns of energy, magical and electrical, might simply be at odds with one another. But did it have to be? Since Professor McGonagall had continuously reiterated the idea that magic has a will and wants to find a pattern, Hermione thought that she might be able to get magic to follow the pattern that made electricity if she willed it to try. It would almost be like transfiguration. She didn't have a particular spell she was going to use, but she did kind of come up with a chant of sorts to keep her mind on what she wanted to happen.

She had a drained car battery hooked up the the magic generator, and set up a certain few locomotion spells to create the kinetic energy from the ambient magic. Then, like a spinner at a prepared spinning wheel, she focused all her attention to the tiny business portion of the operation. The motor was small, but she focused on it. The motor didn't fry or break or do anything really weird. It was a good sign. The battery should have taken at least several hours to charge, but its indicator strip read full within just minutes of the generator's start.

Curious, Hermione paused the work and hooked up a second battery. It also claimed to be full within a few minutes.

Hermione set the magical generator aside and set up her magic-free bubble. This time, she put her CD player inside with its tail of wire and plastic strung out behind it. The tail was plugged into the power converter and linked to the battery. It was set to play automatically once it was powered.

A buzz sounded, electricity popped, and smoke wafted up from the converter.

Always something, Hermione thought.

She grabbed a new converter from the wall full of spare electrical equipment and went through the motions of creating a magic-free bubble with the converter located inside the bubble this time. The last gator clip was attached to the battery and the CD player's display came online. A small whirr could be heard as the CD came up to speed. A breath Hermione didn't know she was holding escaped with a gust. The piano and harmonica intro to Piano Man began wafting from the speakers, amplified by the charms surrounding the magical void bubble.

Hermione squealed, a giant smile beaming on her face. Her hands shook as she withdrew them from that last gator clip at the battery. She backed away, tiptoeing as if the magic would rebel if she jostled it too much. She made it to the door between the giant closet and the ballroom before she started jumping about and dancing around ecstatically.

She did it. She'd made the electricity work!

Hermione allowed herself to dance around to the whole CD before getting back to anything important. Her body moved a flowed with the eclectic beats of Billy Joel. It reminded her of better times, when her parents would come home with take out and they'd have a family sock hop in the dining room with the furniture pushed to the walls. She'd get to the problem that the converter presented at another time. A celebration was in order!

...

Dinner was a low-key affair. Quite excitedly, Hermione shared news of her success while the anti-pasta was being served. Nearly all of the adults wanted to come and inspect the equipment. Lucius especially wanted to make sure no laws were being broken, because of her concerns from their conversation that morning. If she wanted to maintain an above-board appearance, he would aid her in any way he could. He prided himself that legal loopholes were his specialty.

But he was unable to inspect the contraption right after dinner because Hermione got a Galleon message from the Misters Potter and Weasley just as dessert was being served. He saw alarm flash across her face.

Her pocket warmed, almost alarmingly hot. Hermione knew it couldn't be good. Just a casual check-in never warranted the urgent heat that was now made it seem like the coin was about to melt through her pocket. Her stomach immediately felt like lead and her dinner made threats to revisit as she read the message.

"will be ok, don't worry"

That's all there was.

Casual words, but the coin nearly burned through her hand. She'd need some burn paste and a heat shield for the coin from now on. The heat of the coin said it was sent with a great deal of oomph and urgency just to be a check-in, so their casual words were even more alarming.

Her chair screeched in protest as she stood up and dashed out of the room, not a thought in her mind except for the boys.

Lucius and Narcissa shared a pained, fearful look across the table before glancing back at the young woman racing out toward Harry's office.

In the office, she penned three quick missives. Each said, "Something's wrong with the boys. Did they make it back to you? Are they safe? Do they need me?"

The next fourteen hours were spent pacing in the office. The fires quietly crackled and popped and a tea service was offered and replenished as it went cold throughout the night.

When the first owl finally flew in, suspiciously carrying two envelopes, Hermione had already gone through twenty-nine cups of tea and thirteen cups of coffee. It had been twenty-two hours since the boys had sent that missive by coin.

The hasty replies from The Burrow and Gimmauld Place were no more comforting than what the boys sent. Mrs. Weasley and Remus were her usual contacts, but Fred and Tonks had scribbled something about making sure the boys would be okay.

The second owl came from Hogwarts. Its contents were no better. It seemed like they'd concertedly cut her off. She wondered why Harry would let them do that.

She didn't know what to think and wondered what they were hiding and why they were keeping her from knowing what happened. If it was because of the former death eaters in her home, she vowed she would never forgive them. Their prejudice against her guests could be the key to losing the war, if it persisted. And that made her mad.

And a mad Hermione was a determined Hermione.


End file.
